The First Morning

She’d been awake for a long time when the knock came.

“Come in,” she called.

“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am. We haven’t yet set a schedule––”

“Please. Stop. No apologies.” She threw back the covers and stood, surveying the room as the orderly opened the curtains to let the January sunlight spill through the tall windows. “So much history,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” said the orderly.

Dressed and breakfasted, she walked into the Oval Office and stood for a moment. So many years to get here, the arduous forever campaign that really started, if she was honest, in grade school.

The Chief of Staff opened the side door. “Good morning, Ms. President.” He held a clipboard.  “Before we get started, somebody important is waiting to meet you.”

A most unusual man came in, seven feet tall with a gray oblong head and tilted obsidian eyes. He extended a long hand. “Ms. President.”


What Pegman Saw: Roswell